


I Need Direction to Perfection (Help Me Out)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Interlude in the new otp 'verse. Thanksgiving with the boys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** I Need Direction to Perfection (Help Me Out)  
**Characters:** SV!Jensen/GG!Jared  
**Rating:** NC-17.   
**Word Count:** 3, 760  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Jared or Jensen, I’m not affiliated with them, and none of the following ever happened. Of that, I can be certain.   
**Summary:** Interlude in the new otp ‘verse. Thanksgiving with the boys.  
**Notes:** This will be a two-parter, with the second half/resolution posted sometime next week, closer to the holiday!   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
So, the thing is? Jared loves Thanksgiving. Loves the food, the family, the silly little pageants at church with the youth ministry dressing up like pilgrims and Indians and singing songs about gratitude and compassion.   
  
Mostly, he loves the food.  
  
He gets a little buzz after Halloween, when the yellowing jack-o-lanterns and cutout ghouls are replaced with plump turkeys and cornucopias overflowing with fruit and Indian corn. In San Antonio the weather’s still nice enough to warrant a quick dip in the pond down the road, or a shaved ice on the Riverwalk. Everything’s down-home and easy, a drastic difference from the fast-paced and frenetic pulse of Los Angeles that doesn’t slow for anything or anyone.  
  
He likes LA well enough, he guesses, and he’s gotten used to it regardless. But every winter since he left, he’s always gone back home for the holidays. He catches hell for it from Chad – who’d just as soon drink himself into a coma until New Year’s – but Jared just...he _likes_ going back. Likes seeing his family and friends, likes catching up and shooting the shit with the people who cared about him _before_ he was a semi-quasi-almost-recognizable face on television.  
  
But the thing is, this year? He’s not so sure he wants to go. Well, that’s a lie – his bags have been packed since filming wrapped last Wednesday – but he’s having second thoughts about, well, going _alone_. It’s never really been an issue before with anyone he’s dated, but the idea of leaving already when Jensen’s only just flown in…it freaks him out a bit at how much he wants to call his mama and tell her he’s been “unavoidably detained” in LA. Until further notice.  
  
Because the real problem is that _Jensen_ doesn’t give a flying fuck about Thanksgiving. Jared knows this because he’s asked. They were drunk and celebrating someone’s birthday whose name Jared can’t even remember now, and he’d made the mistake of bringing the topic up in the first place, excitement and possibility a heady mixture on his tongue.  
  
Jensen had watched him from under sun-tipped lashes, fingers stroking the contours of his glass and eyes glittering from the strobe lighting in the club while Jared had sat, more than a little tipsy and feeling like a twelve year old with a crush. Just like he had a dozen times since the beginning of this whole weird-ass _thing_ between them. Then those pouty pink lips had pursed, head cocking to the side as Jensen had confided in a bored drawl, “I’m not really comfortable with the whole…bonding over basted turkey. Thing.”  
  
And of course, Jared had understood. Or rather, he’d felt like a stupid ass for asking in the first place and had quickly changed the subject to something that didn’t make Jensen’s eyes go squinty and hard like that. And if he’d been disappointed, well, it was his own fault. Casual was the name of the game here. Just because _he_ wasn’t fucking around with anyone else didn’t mean Jensen wasn’t. For all Jared knew, Jensen was flying into LA to see a dozen people that weren’t Jared, and he should just go on with his plans and not. Fucking. Worry about it.  
  
Which doesn’t explain why he’s now standing outside the baggage claim at LAX, eyes flicking toward the _just arrived_ monitor every few seconds for any sign of Jensen’s flight. His shirt, a well-worn cotton favorite, suddenly feels too tight and scratchy and he can’t stop nervously flicking his cell phone open and closed. Two _click-clacks_ later, he glances down at the backlit screen and reads the terse, blinking text message.  
  
_Just landed. Terminal 5._  
  
He clicks the phone closed again, shoving a hand through his hair and abruptly feeling twin bursts of relief and trepidation. Jensen’s here. Jensen’s _here_ , and Jared should’ve been prepared by now and know exactly how to act, but the truth is that he can lie to himself all he wants and pretend this is just a transcontinental booty call or whatever – and oh, _God_ , but Tom would laugh his ass off right now – but honestly? It matters way too fucking much what Jensen thinks when he gets off that plane and sees—  
  
He starts forward before his brain even finishes recognizing the familiar figure sauntering toward him, and nervous or not, he breaks out into a wide, stupid grin when Jensen slides off a pair of sleek black shades and sends him a smirk. An olive green lightweight jacket clings to his shoulders, coupled with a pair of faded jeans and white sneakers, and Jared can’t help but think it’s a bit fucking unfair that Jensen can get off of a five hour flight looking like he’s just stepped out of hair and makeup.  
  
They both stop a few feet apart, and Jared shoves his hands down into the depths of his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “So,” he says, clearing his throat when Jensen’s gaze remains annoyingly unreadable. Jared’s head tilts to the side. “What’s up?”  
  
Jensen’s lips twitch, and then he’s flashing Jared his teeth and stepping forward to slap him on the back. It looks innocent enough to any observing outsiders, Jared’s sure, but then they don’t see Jensen press his mouth up against Jared’s ear to say, “Take me to my hotel, Boy Wonder, and maybe you’ll find out.”  
  
The embrace is over as soon as it begins, and Jared’s left swaying forward, more than a little disoriented by both the image Jensen’s words have painted and the trail of cooling saliva where Jensen snuck in a little velvety lick just below his earlobe. Blinking slowly, Jared catches the slightest hint of smug satisfaction darkening Jensen’s gaze before he thumbs over his shoulder and turns to look for his luggage.  
  
Jared swallows, remaining motionless for a few moments while Jensen moves closer to the revolving belt, and then he sucks in a sharp breath and moves to join him. He stares hard at the bags crawling past, feeling the hot press of Jensen’s shoulder through thin cotton. “I can’t,” he blurts out suddenly, looking up when Jensen blinks and glances over at him. At his questioning look, Jared flounders and adds, “I’m, uh, I’m leaving. This afternoon. Remember?”  
  
Jensen blinks again, a slow fluttering of those damned girl-pretty lashes that Jared equally loathes and adores, and his lips turn down just a smidge at the corners. “Leaving,” he parrots, and Jared’s fingers clench at the blank understanding in Jensen’s green eyes. “Where you goin’, Jay?”  
  
“Home,” Jared answers shortly, looking away and wondering why the hell he cares that Jensen doesn’t even _remember_ his plans. Yeah, they’d been drunk when he’d originally brought them up, but still… “Thanksgiving in San Antonio, remember?”  
  
Jensen’s lips go round, eyes widening a bit, and he sounds genuinely surprised when he says, “You’re still going?”  
  
Jared stares at him. “Uh… _yeah_.” He lets out a little laugh, shoving his fingers through his hair, ruffling the ends in nervous agitation. “I kinda told you that, just the other day.”  
  
Jensen’s brows furrows, and Jared has the questionable pleasure of seeing Jensen Ackles at a loss for words for the first time since they met. “I just…” Whatever Jensen had been planning to say, he quickly cuts himself off and straightens, again looking as calm and cool as ever. “I thought we decided we were staying here.”   
  
Jared fucking _hates_ when Jensen’s voice gets like that, all carefully modulated and empty of emotion, and he feels an answering frown tugging at the corners of his own mouth before he mutters, “No, _you’re_ staying here.” And fuck, he’s never been good at hiding his feelings like Jensen, so the disappointment and hurt tightens his words and silences them both. Jared’s gaze drops to his shoes. Jensen’s surprisingly the first to break, although Jared’s already lifting his head and opening his mouth to apologize, to assure Jensen everything’s cool and he’s not as totally lame as he’s acting.  
  
“That’s cool,” Jensen says tonelessly, and the knot in Jared’s belly twists. “Guess I’ll find something to do while you’re gone.”  
  
Jared manages a smile. “I’m sure you will,” he agrees, congratulating himself on matching Jensen’s tone and not crumbling in a heap at his feet and begging the damn asshole to just give _in_ and come home with him. Because he isn’t already pathetically obsessed enough. “But if you need a ride or whatever…”  
  
Jensen shrugs. “I can hang. When’s your flight?” It’s as close to an admission that Jared is probably gonna get, and his smile goes shaky and thankful even while a part of him screams out for more.   
  
“Not for a few hours,” he admits, catching sight of a big bright yellow smiley face stuck to a blue tote bag. He has to grin, remembering how he’d slapped the stickers on Jensen’s luggage the last time they’d gotten together after listening to him whine for an hour about a mix-up in Salt Lake City. When the bag passes, he grabs it up and hefts it over one shoulder, turning to find Jensen reaching for a similarly decorated upright. They leave the bustling baggage claim area, pressed close together, and Jensen picks up the conversation abruptly.  
  
“If you’re not leaving until later, why don’t we get outta here for awhile? Spend some quality time with your boy before you abandon him, Jared.” The words are low and intimate, and Jared doesn’t need a good imagination to fill in the blanks when Jensen’s licking his bottom lip and walking so close Jared can fucking _feel_ him already.  
  
“I…” He forgets why it’s a bad idea when Jensen’s fingers catch his elbow, tugging him down a shadowy corridor alongside a soon-to-be smokers pit. There’s no one and nothing back there save a few whirring vending machines, and Jared lets Jensen push him up against the wall, dropping the bags so he can grab hold of those lean hips and squeeze. Their noses brush, and Jared slurs out, “So, you’re my boy?”   
  
Jensen goes still, so quick Jared might’ve missed it had he not been waiting for _just_ that reaction, but then he’s licking along the underside of Jared’s jaw. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Jensen murmurs against his skin, and Jared swallows against the flat of Jensen’s tongue.  
  
“You’re here because your friend’s band has a gig,” Jared manages, watching Jensen’s heavy lids lift to stare at him. “I’m goin’ to San Antonio.”  
  
There’s a pregnant pause; a myriad of emotions flash across Jensen’s face, finally settling into irritation, and he takes a step back and tugs at the zipper on his jacket. “Yeah.” His voice is short, and Jared’s head falls back against the wall. “I remember.”  
  
It’s the astonishing insecurity Jared _thinks_ he hears coloring Jensen’s voice that has him taking a deep breath and finishing the question he’d been on the verge of asking a few weeks ago. “You know, there’s always room at my house…you should come.”  
  
Jensen’s nose wrinkles. “What, for Thanksgiving?” He lets out a small laugh, and this time Jared’s paying enough attention that he can see right through the cynicism to the nerves. “Yeeeah, I don’t—”  
  
“My mama makes a kick-ass pecan pie,” Jared interrupts before he loses his own nerve, reaching out for Jensen’s waist. He tugs him forward by a belt loop, mouth curving at the edges as Jensen settles between his thighs. His voice is a low rumble when he adds, “You wanna meet my mama?”  
  
There’s a flash of hesitation, and then, “You want me to come?” Jensen’s cheeks are flushed, pupils blown black, and Jared can’t bite back a triumphant smirk at the evidence that this isn’t all on his end. He _knows_ that, but a little reminder never hurt anyone.   
  
This thought in mind, he bucks his hips forward, lets Jensen get a little feel before saying, “I want you to come.” He licks his lips, grinning as Jensen’s gaze drops to follow the action, and knows he’s got this one in the bag. “Bet it’s not too late to get a ticket.”  
  
“I don’t…” Jensen frowns, appearing to visibly shake himself out of a trance as he pulls back the last inch before Jared catches his lip with teeth. “Smooth, Padalecki,” he says lightly, but Jared hears the quavering in his voice.  
  
Jared sighs, thumbs slipping up under Jensen’s jacket and shirt, rubbing small circles at his hips. “C’mon, man,” he whines a little, “it’ll be fun.”  
  
“Meeting your mama?” Jensen mimics, not unkindly, but Jared frowns anyway. Jensen’s expression is schooled into a sneer that doesn’t quite make it all the way. “You think I’m what she’s gonna want her baby boy bringing home for the holidays?”   
  
Jared feigns confusion. “She’s met Chad. She met Tom last Christmas,” is all he says, pushing the denim down Jensen’s hips just enough to get to warm skin. “What’s the big deal?”  
  
“Yeah? Well, lemme fill you in on a little detail, Jay.” Jensen leans forward, a breath away, eyes flashing with what looks suspiciously like resentment. “You weren’t banging Tom fucking Welling for kicks every weekend.”  
  
“I’m not banging you for kicks, either,” Jared says, giving in and catching Jensen’s bottom lip between his own. There’s a soft moan, he doesn’t know who gives it, and then he whispers against Jensen’s mouth, “And I’m not gonna tell her, dumbass.”  
  
Jensen stares at him, lips shiny and slick, and Jared lifts his brow in a challenging look he knows gets under Jensen’s skin. Sure enough, a minute later Jensen curses and looks away. “I don’t eat turkey,” he says bluntly, moving back and narrowing his gaze on something just over Jared’s shoulder.  
  
The grin stretches slowly across Jared’s lips. “We can order pizza,” he jokes, reaching out for Jensen again, but Jensen’s own lips are twitching as he playfully dodges. “Where you goin’?” Jared murmurs, wishing they weren’t stuck in a stupidly crowded airport and he could _really_ get his hands on the sexy son of a bitch.  
  
“To freaking San Antonio, apparently,” Jensen answers, but he doesn’t sound nearly as put out as before. “Assuming I can get a flight.”  
  
Jared’s face hurts from smiling so wide, and he doesn’t even care that he’s giving too much away when he reaches in his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the crinkled e-ticket he’d purchased in Jensen’s name weeks ago. He’d almost thrown it away that morning. “I think I got you covered.”  
  
  
 

***

  
  
  
“Holy _shit_ ,” Jensen gasps, bowing back as Jared sinks his teeth in the curve of Jensen’s shoulder and thrusts deeper. His fingers tighten around Jensen’s against the hotel linens, one hand drifting away to curl around a lean hip, pulling Jensen back more firmly against him.  
  
“Missed you,” he gets out between his teeth, relishing the growls and shudders coming from underneath him.   
  
When Jensen’s voice comes, it’s thick and raw. “You’re such a damn girl.” But he reaches back, palming Jared’s ass and making throaty noises that sound like encouragement.  
  
“I’m not the one on my knees.” He's trying for cool, but his tone is shot to hell from Jensen's ass rubbing his dick, and instead he ends up chewing his bottom lip and blinking the sweat out of his eyes. So he swirls his hips, fucking deep and loving when Jensen’s head drops forward against the pillows, burying a groan. “You missed me, too,” he says, _knows_ , and spreads his knees wider. “Just fucking admit it.”  
  
“H-Harder,” Jensen says, voice thready and muffled, and Jared sinks back before snapping his hips forward again. “God, Jay, just…” He can hear Jensen swallow, and then everything squeezes and tightens around him, and it’s so fucking unfair because he can’t fucking compete with _that_ kind of distraction.  
  
“Damn it.” He pulls out and rips the condom off seconds before promptly shooting all over Jensen’s back, mouth open and gasping, fist circling and twisting. Jensen arches like a cat under him, angular and lithe, a distinctly purring sound teasing his throat. Jared slides his palm up and along the slick, milky-white trails, smearing, then takes Jensen by the thigh and flips him over and onto his back.  
  
“Gonna wreck the sheets.” Jensen’s voice is sleepy and lazy, but his eyes are sharp and focused, and Jared glances down to see Jensen’s dick – still hard and curved against his belly.  
  
“So? We’re not sleeping in ‘em,” Jared grits out. He smiles down at Jensen and bends to open his lips over a flat nipple. The flesh immediately pebbles in his mouth, and Jensen’s hips flutter on a long moan. “Like that?” Jared murmurs, feeling lightheaded with control.  
  
“Dirty,” is all Jensen says, lips curved and eyes closed. Jared feels him reach down between them, and prepares to knock Jensen’s fingers away when they go for his dick, but Jensen takes Jared’s free hand instead, lifting it up to his mouth. Jared holds his heavy-lidded gaze the entire time Jensen sucks and licks his hand clean, swallowing hard.  
  
“Shit,” he whispers, and Jensen’s grin turns knowing. Jared lowers his eyes and head again, wetting flesh with his own tongue. Jensen jumps under him when his lips glide along a rib, and he lingers just long enough to please himself. He moves lower; Jensen’s dick bumps his chin, and Jared’s pulse kicks.  
  
He never really does this. Not that he doesn’t _like_ it, or whatever. He’s just…really inexperienced at sucking dick, and even though Jensen always comes, Jared can’t help but think that Jen’s comparing him to some nameless person/people in his past and Jared’s coming up short.   
  
He lays a soft lick just below Jensen’s navel, pulls back a little to look up through the fringe of his bangs and sees Jensen staring down intensely at him. He still has Jared’s thumb between his lips, and he reaches down and runs his own fingers through Jared’s tousled hair, curving around his cheek and pressing deep into Jared’s bottom lip.  
  
Jared gets the feeling there’s something Jensen wants to say, but he remains silent for so long that the moment passes and Jared starts to feel jittery and nervous. He swallows quickly, then curls his tongue along the blunt crown of Jensen’s cock, tasting sweat and salt, and Jensen shudders on a short hiss. Jared can’t go deep, but his mouth is wide enough to take Jensen in and still have room to work his tongue, so he presses it flat against the underside of Jen’s dick, and _sucks_.   
  
Jensen bites down on his finger, hips pulsing up, and he curses long and low. Jared uses his free hand to press him back down against the mattress, squirming closer and going a bit deeper. Jensen’s got his hands back in his hair and he tugs so hard Jared feels tears prick his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Just wants for Jensen to lose it and come down his throat, and if the grunting and keening coming from the pillows is any indication, Jared’s well on his way to getting what he wants.  
  
“Missed your…fucking mouth,” Jensen slurs, mirroring Jared’s earlier words with a graphic twist, riding between Jared’s lips and drawing on the tip of his thumb. His dick flares, pulses, and Jared can’t fight a groan as the first creamy burst coats his tongue. He lays velvet-soft licks along the head while Jensen mutters, “I swear to fucking God…you have a dirty mouth” and lets the string of filthy curses wash over and compensate him before he sits back on his haunches and licks his lips.   
  
Jensen is flushed from cheeks to calves, shining with sweat as his chest rises and falls and his gaze finds Jared’s in the dim lighting. “Hey,” Jen says, and his voice is so gritty and hoarse it makes Jared chuckle. “C’mere.”  
  
Jared smiles faintly. A quick glance at the clock confirms his suspicion, and he swings his legs over the mattress. “Gotta clean up and go.” _Together_ , he adds in silent relief, searching for his wadded up shirt and tugging it over his head as Jensen stretches lazily in the bed. Jared sees him scratching idly at the drying come on his belly, looking thoughtful and composed. The sight is soothing enough that Jared feels safe in asking the question that’s been on his mind all afternoon, and he bites his lip briefly before turning to meet Jensen’s warm gaze.   
  
“Hey, Jen,” he starts, fingers fumbling with his boxers as he pulls them up his hips with a snap. Jensen’s brow lifts, and Jared hesitates again. Then, “Why aren’t you, ya know, going home yourself?”  
  
Jensen’s easy expression slowly fades into confusion, then a sort of cold acceptance that makes Jared bite back a curse. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice flat and toneless.  
  
Jared treads carefully. “Don’t you…isn’t there anything going on in Richardson?”  
  
There’s a flash of something in Jensen’s eyes before he snorts and rolls over, gifting Jared with his naked back and buttocks, and Jared’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the tight curve of flesh even as he moves forward to put a knee back on the bed. Jensen glances over his shoulder and catches him, grinning slow and dirty. “Nothin’ important,” he drawls, and Jared’s fingers itch to touch, stroke. Jensen licks his lips, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Besides, I thought you wanted me to come with you?” This time there’s no insecurity in his voice, just a flirtatious banter.  
  
Jared gives into the urge, reaching out and sliding the palm of his hand from Jensen’s shoulder to the top of his thigh. “You _are_ coming with me,” he says, squeezing the tender flesh until Jensen makes a soft sound and wriggles under him. “I just thought maybe—”  
  
“I told you I don’t really get off on Thanksgiving,” Jensen interrupts, catching Jared’s hand and dragging him down to settle himself front to Jensen’s back. “They’re not gonna be expecting me.”  
  
And although he still sounds easy and light, Jared gathers there’s more there than Jensen’s willing to talk about. The idea hurts a bit, but he knows when to push and when to be happy with what he’s getting. He smiles, shrugs his shoulder and presses a kiss between Jensen’s.   
  
"Okay," he says, and when Jen looks back over his shoulder again, there's something in his eyes that looks like relief, gratitude. And really, it's Thanksgiving, and that's enough for Jared. More than enough.


End file.
